


Cut My Lip

by cherryblur



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, Fights, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblur/pseuds/cherryblur
Summary: “Do something,” He sneers.“Fight back.”





	Cut My Lip

**Author's Note:**

> tw blood and trauma aftermath
> 
> update as of march: i fixed some things and added some others

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“Shut the fuck up, Tyler.”

They stand at a matched point.  
Josh is strong, but Tyler’s fast. They don’t know who would strike first but at this point they glare like cats waving imaginary tails. 

Tyler bares a sliver of teeth, lip curling at the thick air the tension produced. His paint is fresh but it’ll start melting if he sweats anymore. 

Josh’s eye makeup doesn’t have a smudge anywhere. 

“It’s all you,” He sneers. He’s trying to pick a fight.

Tyler keeps a straight face.  
“I don’t understand. Why don’t we just talk it out? Why does it have to be so-“

“Shut _up_ , Tyler.” 

The brunette listens and his mouth snaps shut. 

Josh hates his rows of crooked teeth. They’re ugly. 

“Do something,” He challenges.  
“fight back. Attack me.”

Tyler scoffs from his position across the room.  
“No. I’m not going to fucking _fight you_ , dipshit. What are you, in 7th grade?”

Josh really tries it now. He’s stepped close, nose to fucking nose.  
“ _Do something_.” He repeats, and Tyler can smell the cinnamon gum on his breath. 

_He’s just trying to work you up_ , the brunette’s inner pacifist tells him. He’s trying to stay calm.  
But then his body reacts and he’s cracking Josh’s big stupid nose with his fist. 

They both stumble from the impact at first, Josh cradling his nose in a hand.  
It’s bleeding profusely, and Tyler’s pretty sure he’s smashed the piercing somehow. 

“Motherfucker,” Josh laughs at his bandmate’s pale face.  
“got me good?” 

He’s pouncing before Tyler can try and spout the apologies stuck on his lips.  
He’s got his arm-the pretty, tattooed one that the brunette always liked-pressed up against an inky neck. 

Tyler’s eyes widen. He scrabbles at Josh’s arm, nails digging into the muscle.

The blood from his nose drips onto a curved one.

“J-os-“ He gapes like a fish and Josh doesn’t let go until he sees those dumb girly lips start to turn a shade of blue. 

Tyler collapses on the floor in front of him.  
He’s too small. 

He’s wheezing and choking and tears run down his face without his permission. 

Josh watches. Bored. 

Tyler stands with a shake and his drummer lets him rake his nails across the side of his face. He tries to scream an insult, but his voice is rough. Squeaky. 

Josh laughs at the bruises already beginning to form through the sloppy paint and yanks Tyler by his hair.  
It’s funny how he’s the one bleeding all over and they haven’t even started. 

He smacks the singer hard across the face and gets a cut off whimper, his stupid feminine eyelashes trying to bat away his tears. 

“You’re a bitch, Tyler.” Josh spits and blood streaks through Tyler’s black paint. 

“You’re small. Weak,” the brunette cowers beneath and tries to snake his way out of Josh’s grasp.  
He grips the greasy quiff of hair harder and feels some strands start to rip. 

“you’re an egotistical asshole. You think you’re so fucking special,” Josh spits again and it stains the dressing room carpet.  
“and I hate it.” 

Tyler mouths a “fuck you” and gets slapped again. Josh lets go. 

The brunette just can’t take a loss, and he knew that would happen. 

His eye starts to turn purple when he knees Josh in the stomach. 

Josh is winded but retaliates with blind rage and snaps Tyler’s chin with his forearm. Hard.

The brunette reels, his mouth is bleeding with a split lip, and he’s pretty sure he nearly bit his tongue off, but now he’s on the floor and Josh is standing, wiping the heavy flow of red still coming from his twisted nose. 

“See?” He grins. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to just. fucking. lose.” He shakes his head and steps closer. 

Tyler’s backed up against a wall and he’s yanked up by his tank top. The fabric rips in Josh’s hands. 

“You’re too proud, and I need to help you take it down a notch.” 

_Escape_.  
_Run_. 

Tyler has to suck in his pride and try to be a coward.  
To run.  
And get help. 

Because he’s not going to win this one. He can’t use words to help him now; this is a battle of physical strength. And he’s not strong.

He nods, trying to distract his assailant. Josh says something else, but he’s not listening. The last blow to his head sort of whacked his hearing a bit. 

Instead he raises his knee and jabs Josh where he knows it hurts. 

While he’s crouched for a split second the singer bolts. He grasps for the door with sore limbs and tries to scream for anyone who could hear him but the door’s _locked_ and his hands are _bloody_ so he scrabbles with the handle while his insides jostle. 

Josh is dragging him back kicking and he feels he might just die at the hands of his best friend.  
He breaks a nail trying to grip the carpet. 

“You piece of shit,” Josh mutters, looking into a scared pair of eyes. 

His fingers grip Tyler’s chin, and he can see he’s chipped a few of those already fucked up teeth. 

“Are you gonna tell anyone about this?” He says it like a parent scolding a child. 

Tyler cries and shakes with his silent sobs and Josh hates it so much. 

“ _Answer me_ , you little bitch. Stop crying.” He hates those stupid lips and his dumb little pixie nose that bled all over his fingers. 

The singer shakes his head the best he can. He shakes it and prays to whatever might be up there. 

Josh releases him and his head falls back onto the dirty carpet.

He laughs. Snickers like he does in interviews, on camera. “I know you won’t. You never will, because you’re _scared_.”

He steps over such a scrawny little body, nose twitching with pain. 

“If anyone asks, you fell down the stairs,” He tells him.

Tyler is rolled into himself, hands covering his face. He quivers and twitches with quiet noises a wounded animal would make. 

Josh unlocks the door and the brunette hears it close softly. 

•

Tyler comes limping onto the tour bus 20 minutes before the show is supposed to start. Josh is sitting on the couch with a brace on his nose and a few band-aids on his cheek, but the singer is much worse. 

Everyone stands but Josh. 

“Tyler!” They all cry.

They fret and have to cancel the show because the little singing bird has lost his voice after a nasty fall down the stairs. 

But some of the crew knows better. 

“Did anyone..meet you? Or, y’know...” Mark approaches him in his bunk, where he’s curled up.

He shakes his head. _No, I wasn’t raped_ , he scribbles down on the whiteboard he was given. 

He wears hoodies, things with high neck coverage so no one sees the bruises.

Mark purses his lips but leaves him alone. 

The rest of the crew watch him. They look worried, like if falling down the stairs had some alterior motive.

”Where you trying to-hurt yourself?” Brad asks him softly one evening.

Tyler scoffs and holds up a _NO_ on his whiteboard.

He wishes they would just drop it. It’s not that big of a deal, really.

Somehow pictures of Tyler’s injures make it to social media _(He knew it was Josh)_. No one knows about Josh’s until he’s caught in the background of a different one, and they’re practically healed by then.

No one questions Josh about why his and Tyler’s injuries seem connected so he assumes the red-haired drummer must’ve pulled an excellent story out of his ass.

Why would anyone suspect him anyways? He’s the kind-hearted drummer.

The one who laughed at Tyler’s dumb jokes and was known as a big softie who loved animals.

It would never cross anyone’s mind that he used his muscle to beat the living hell out of his so-called best friend, then keep a psychological eye on him constantly.

Controlling him.

The fans aren’t stupid. 

_Looks like Josh won_ , one of them wrote. 

_Tyler never looked very strong anyways_

_I would PAY to have Josh punch me like that_

_Joshler fight gone wrong???_

_Tyler, are you okay?_

Tyler deletes all of his social media and doesn’t talk very much anymore. He’s sunken in, quiet.  
Josh becomes the new frontman.  
Everyone loves the drummer. 

He’s learned his place, apparently. 

Josh seems satisfied at his new personality. 

Feeble. Shy. Afraid to open his mouth because he might loose a few more teeth if he does. 

Josh keeps him on his toes. Every once in a while, he’ll catch him off-guard or on a good day.  
He’ll make sure he’s limping before the show tonight and can’t climb anything more than the shell of his piano.

Tyler just recycles one of his same excuses when people ask where his bruises come from.

_Iron deficiency. Fell off the stage. Jumped by thugs. Bar fight._

He heals alone and never tells a soul.

Why would he? Who would believe him? Josh has beaten it so consistently into him, the fact that he’s weak, talentless and stale and honestly only there so Josh isn’t a solo act.

Sometimes he hesitates. His fingers will glide over the numbers 911 when he’s sopping up blood from his nose with a tissue, but instead he Googles how to set a broken finger and tries to read through his tears.

He’ll never tell anyone. He loves his best friend too much to do that.

**Author's Note:**

> oop


End file.
